Dr. Dennis L. Siluk’s has published 72-International Book. He is a poet since twelve years old, a writer, Psychologist, Ordained Minister, Decorated Veteran from the Vietnam War, Doctor in Arts and Education, and Doctor Honoris Causa from the National University of Central Peru, UNCP. He was nominated Poet Laureate in Peru. One of his books, “The Galilean”, took Honorable Mention at the 2016 Paris Book Festival and received an award from the Congress of Peru, for his cultural writings.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

The Anonymous Asmodeus ((Old Testament Demon) (Poetic Prose))

Asmodeus, old World Demon

You don’t hear of him much nowadays, but he’s around, been
around for a very long time, the ancient demon, Asmodeus, a baneful creature,
from a mummy-like abyss. And this is a story of his nature, awareness, and of
his presence.

As in
some pestilential mist, he sluggishly clogs his way, likened through a muddy
riverbed in dreams in the circuit of the mind, like a fair and baneful succubi,
trying to rape men, beasts or maidens, producing a nightmare, while sitting on their
chests, in the midst of a midnight moon. And like a thief in the night, Asmodeus
did slip into my dreams last night, this hell-born demonic beast, as if into a
cell and its nucleus, ere. Why? Perhaps
he was unable to calm his agitation with me, that I discovered him out, early
on that afternoon, the one so many have in the past had to use exorcism to
beguile him to abandon his home away from home! Perchance, I offended him, and
this was his frightful penance, demons can be counter punchers, as well as
instigators; they tend to have a ghoulish hunger, and incubus-like desires. But
Asmodeus, he likes to devour men, put them in an eldritch awe. Not so unlike
many demon, his thinking and presence changes from instant to instant, restless
impulsive, impetuous. Hence, he wanders through the thronged bazars of my
unconscious (and he has for ages before me to uncountable numbers), during its
twilight: sanguine for whatever reasons to create evil, and yes, he per near
did once or twice like a cradling sea, slightly appear as if out of nowhere
only then to return—back through the sharp, harsh ridges and narrows of my
mind, to his abode, or inn, or oubliette; but I did get a glimpse of him before
I cast him away in the Lord’s name.

He was
of a weird semi-fabric of bulk matter and gloom, with rayless plated-armor (like cold steel) with a chill of
deathly menace and desolation on his face and within his eyes.

This
demonic being, with stirring, orbiting and straining eyes spinning like on a
top, likened to earth’s spinning counterclockwise, as it orbits the sun, with
his hidden ghouls, filled with dark misgivings, all listening, watching waiting
behind that sepulchral gloom, while moment by moment darkness continues to
close in, and arising with his intangible eddying, seething anthropomorphic
diabolical form, Asmodeus, slayer of husbands, family destroyer, he hides in a
shadow among shadows, looking for an egress into the mind, an emission of light,
—especially among old men, deep in their cyclopean sleep, their thews weakened,
flanks unguarded, with a weak hearts, to
create pandemonium, evil, to frighten them to death, like the incubus who sits
on the chest to inflict nightmares.

Aye, it
was as if he came out of the catacombs, overcome by resignation, the oppression
thickened the air in my REM sleep, awoke me to this horror and his plight,
stifled me some, I was his hall’s end, I subsided into a wheezing and gasping
breath, he wished to put me on the chill stone, I do believe. His rustic eyes,
ogling, lured out of the gloom, should I not have awakened who could tell, a
dead poet—if or if not—was sent to a
charnel house, the bone house, the house
of impedimenta, before his time! Perhaps, perhaps not! But his ogling was done
chary like.

It all
took place in a slit-like gleam, within a hollow of a dream, from an ajar
egress into my mind, and with his impulse to invade, was only repressed by a
nudge for me to awake, insight, the demon recedes and fades into faint dubious
whispers of mist (thank God, and my wife for her awareness), back to his
everlasting death, to his hatching-place of demons, one he knows too well, so
well, and one he knows I know of also, his hell.

And as
far as I go, sleepiness took over, nodded a drowsy assent, to my heart and
mind, relieved by the disappearance of those stealthily eyes, thus, I shut my
eyes like portals shut only by hangers, and drifted back and deeper into a
black ebony incredible age of
nothingness.